[ Almost, almost. Not more than a second, hardly allowing the sensation of substance to take root. The shadow in his eyes spreads, creasing, dipping his mouth into a frown.

But he doesn't drop his hand. ]

I don't know. The spirits only just began appearing. Otherwise this is...

[ How to explain this succinctly? The word Fate flits through his mind, but staring at her, doubt flickers, his frown grows. ]

Somewhere else. The machinations of a so-called elevated mage. It'll be difficult to believe.

[ If not for that nettle of obligation, he wouldn't explain, disinterested in the effort. But he must owe her that much. ]